DEIMOS
The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head
The thunder of the drums dictates
The thunder of the drums dictates
Noting Rhiannon’s hesitation with the infant, Deimos couldn’t help but laugh, a muffled sentiment that refuse to echo past his lungs. “He is hoping you wave back.” Whether or not she did was another thing altogether – though he still caught Erebos brandishing his mitten-covered hands in hopes that the soldier would do the same.
Pulling at a few more gears and levers, the Sword placed the crossbow down amidst the rest of its armed brethren, and snagged at another for inspection. Deeming it worthy, his long limbs took him towards one of his favored filaments, a miniature trebuchet. While Erebos giggled and gurgled at the sudden movement, Rhiannon seemed to have found another fixture worth noting, and he shook his head. “No need.” Within a matter of moments, his hands began to give off a gilded, golden glow, and within his palms contorted and manifested an identical string; though new and not yet frayed. Then he held it out for her to take, before resuming inspections.
Pulling at a few more gears and levers, the Sword placed the crossbow down amidst the rest of its armed brethren, and snagged at another for inspection. Deeming it worthy, his long limbs took him towards one of his favored filaments, a miniature trebuchet. While Erebos giggled and gurgled at the sudden movement, Rhiannon seemed to have found another fixture worth noting, and he shook his head. “No need.” Within a matter of moments, his hands began to give off a gilded, golden glow, and within his palms contorted and manifested an identical string; though new and not yet frayed. Then he held it out for her to take, before resuming inspections.
The rhythm of the falls, the number of dead
The rising of the horns, ahead
The rising of the horns, ahead
